


Some You Win...

by CuddlerOfDragons



Series: AU Season Four (Lucifer Didn't Kill Cain) [2]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-02-26 18:37:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18722683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuddlerOfDragons/pseuds/CuddlerOfDragons
Summary: Sequel to 'It Wasn't For HIM', you will have to have read that one to make sense of this one.WARNING: WILL CONTAIN A REWRITE (AND SPOILERS) FOR SEASON FOUR.





	1. Prologue

 

Cain

Millennia he had existed but, it seemed, the last four hundred years or so, he had had to shake up his game. Humanity had reached some sort of tipping point.

Technology. Once it had started, there had been no stopping it - a pebble rolling downhill, gathering mass and momentum as it rolled. Industry: machines to do the work once done by men but quicker and cheaper. The twentieth century: first aircraft flight to first manned space flight in less than sixty years. The micro-chip. Computers.

The internet.

A double edged sword, if ever there was one. On the one hand, it made it easier for him to steal identities but on the other, the same facial recognition software made it easier for  _him_ to be caught.

Oh, for simpler times.

Memory was unreliable - for all humans but more so for him. As with  _everyone_  though, certain events would  _never_ be forgotten: The murder of his brother, the sorrow of his parents. The day his wife and family realized that he wasn’t aging, the day he walked away from them.

_Had_ it been easier, back then? God  _had_ wanted him to be…  _this_? Surely  _that_ had been the plan. Cursed so that crops failed in his hands, what else could he do but take from others? Through theft or by trickery. Trickery was more challenging, more mentally stimulating for a bored, unwillingly immortal man; more  _fun_.

A lifestyle came into being. Nomadic wandering, millennia of people  _believing_ when you told them your name, just on your say-so. Thousands of aliases, millions of lies. New people he could convince to trust him - new people he could betray.

Organized crime.

He  _had_ to be organized,  _had_ to keep records,  _had_ to bolster a memory never designed for accuracy over  _this_ amount of time. His ledgers - who owed him, who had known him, where had he lived and for how long - regularly expired, as the people in them withered and died. Property lasted  _longer_ and he could always pretend to inherit… His private journals, though… he had to  _choose_ which personal memories to keep and which to allow to fade. He always kept the memories of the  _enjoyable_ killings.

So many rocks.

The population of the Earth had grown. People spread out - which was good in one way but bad in another. Ethnicity meant that, in some areas of the planet, he would  _always_ stand out as a stranger. Differing language meant that he had to learn  _talking_ , as well as writing, all over again and again and  _again_. How many dead languages had he learned and then had his brain discard in favour of new ones?

Eventually, he  _had_ to have help.

He played the long game; he was, after all, uniquely qualified. No shortage of orphaned children that could be groomed into his service - brainwashed into loving him - growing up to be his workforce, his minions; happy to kill or die at his word…  _His_.

Then, the advent of photography - after making sure his true image  _never_ made it into artwork -  _now_ the nightmare of trying to avoid having his image captured in an instant and, conceivably, without his knowledge. Next, the tyranny of passports - being  _legally compelled_ to have photographic evidence of his existence. Followed by the Orwellian nightmare of CCTV - everywhere.

Sometimes he dreamed of an EM pulse ending it all. Was he powerful enough to command one?

Humanity periodically flirted with the threat of nuclear war - and he wondered, would  _that_ kill him? Maybe he’d have to wander through a ruined landscape and be forced to give starvation a try. Omega man. The last. Alone and undying.

He kept track of any celestial visiting Earth, the faint hope that one day someone might have been sent there to end his curse.

Lucifer.

Surely the most stupid of all God’s angels. Vacationing from Hell, telling  _everyone_ who he is, inspiring artists of all kinds, throughout the ages. Not even being  _subtle_. The two L’ange du Mal statues by the brothers Geefs - for example - were  _blatant_ likenesses of the idiot Morningstar, who seemed to have no clue of how this kind of thing could come back and bite you in the ass.

Then, around the time Cain was joining Chicago PD, Lucifer came to Earth and did something different. He stayed.

Cain loved being in law enforcement, so much information could be his almost  _before_ he wanted it and Lucifer was easy to keep tabs on. For five years he partied at his club and mostly stayed out of trouble,  _then_ he got caught up in the murder investigation of a former employee. That seemed to act as some sort of catalyst and he ended up an official civilian consultant.

Then a human shot him and he  _bled_.

A tiny spark of hope had stirred deep inside Cain…

***


	2. Changing Lives

 

　

Flashback

His name is Marcus Pierce and he‘s a loner.

His father - a well respected police detective - died in the line of duty, six weeks before Marcus was born. His mother never re-married.

He has no siblings.

He has no criminal record of any kind and, following the death of his mother - from cancer - he enrolled in Vermont Police Academy.

He worked hard and resisted all attempts from his fellow students to divert him from his chosen path. No wild parties, no love affairs, no hard drinking. No fun.

His subsequent career in the police force followed the same pattern.

___

Cain finished reading the summary, closed the file and looked across at his current right hand man.

“This one’s promising, too.” He added the file to the small pile. “These others…” He waved his hand at the much larger stack, “..are too invested in their local areas. Concentrate on this shortlist, let me know if any of them qualify for acquisition.”

“Funny you should say that, Boss. Pierce there, has applied to Chicago PD; he’s been ready for promotion for a while and the new job would bump him up to Lieutenant.”

“We got his life?” Cain asked, looking at the photograph of Pierce again, this time with more of an eye for detail. He’d have to change his hair, again; add some touches of silver where it was short at the sides. At least he wouldn’t need coloured contact lenses, this time.

“Yeah. Hacked him six months ago, when facial recognition picked him as a possible match. His life really is that dull.”

“Clean?”

“Squeaky.”

“Hobbies?”

“Motorcycles - riding, rebuilding his own and, as a spectator at sporting events.”

“Doable. Sexuality?”

“Hetero but genuinely tolerant and at ease with anyone who isn’t. Not one of these insecure macho types who thinks he has something to prove.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Nothing long term, in recent years; seems to go for one-nighters, mostly. Got burned when he was young, I think.”

“Social media?”

“Nah, he’s too security conscious.” The man sniggered at the irony.

“Good. He getting an interview with Chicago?”

“Thinks he is.”

“Great. You know what to do.” He picks up Pierce’s full file. “I’ve gotta go study.”

***

As always, it went smoothly - they’d had a lot of practice - Cain was interviewed for the Chicago PD while Pierce had a  _staged_ interview, in a rented office block, peopled with hand-picked Sinnerman employees. Having been told he’d got the job, Pierce allowed the bogus Chicago PD to arrange everything; his accommodation, the shipping of his stuff and his flight.

His body was secretly cremated by one of the many people who owed The Sinnerman a favour and Cain stepped seamlessly into his identity...

***

Now

 

“Poor guy.” Agent Denis York said, closing Cain’s ’Pierce’ file.

“You think? Man  _this_ dull would have gone straight to the Silver City.” Mazikeen Smith sneered, shovelling another spoon, filled with sugary cereal and vodka, into her mouth.

“It gives us another lead to follow. The crematorium guy.” He adds at Maze’s puzzled look.

“So he slips an extra corpse in the oven when no one’s looking; he doesn’t sound like much of a challenge.”

“No, he’s probably not up to  _your_ standards. Chicago PD can handle him.” He gathered up the files from the table. “All these different potential new lives for Cain and  _this_ poor bastard gets the short straw because of a promotion.”

There was a light tapping on their hotel room door. York glanced at Maze.

“The Idiot Morningstar.” She said, rolling her eyes.

“I should  _never_ have let you read Cain’s files.” York said, shaking his head and opening the door to reveal Lucifer. He strode in with a smirk.

“You don’t usually knock; Decker civilizing you?” Maze asked, aggressively.

“Yes.” Lucifer said, brightly. “Which is why I’m going to let the insult slide. What files?” He directed the last question at York.

“Cain’s private journal. He calls you an idiot for telling everyone who you are and modelling for artists, throughout history.”

“Specifically the Geefs.” Maze put in.

“Joseph and Guillaume.” Lucifer said with that out of focus look that York understood to be him,  _remembering_. “Such lovely strong hands.”

Maze snorted.

“ _What?_  You  _need_ strong hands if you’re working with marble and they were both  _so_ talented.” The last, said in a tone that suggested he was  _not_ talking about their skills as sculptors. “How’s the bodyguard duty going?” He asked Maze, looking pointedly over her shoulder at the one, large, rumpled bed.

“I can hardly guard him if I’m not in the same room.” She said, rebelliously.

“Sleep across the foot of his bed, do you?”

“No, I stay awake. The sex was good but he’s  _twisted_.” Her face adopted a look of revulsion and York flushed red to the roots of his blond hair. Lucifer looked at him with puzzled admiration.

“ _Really_? He doesn’t look…”

“He likes to…  _cuddle_.” Maze ground out between her teeth.

“Ah. You’ll have to excuse Maze, she was raised by Hell-hounds and, although I’ve  _tried_ to teach her manners, she does still tend to bite the hand that feeds her.“ Lucifer said, apologetically. “Kudos to you, though, for having the nerve to grab the tiger by the tail.”

“It wasn’t quite like…”

“He was  _stressed_ , he couldn’t sleep and I could almost  _hear_ him thinking…  _ugh_. I got him to relax in the most painless way I know,  _okay?_ ”

“So long as he’s not complaining.”

“N-n-no. Not at  _all_.” York managed, realizing that the issue of consent was important to Lucifer.

“Good. Now, you said you had Cain’s private files for me.”

“Yeah. I’ve read through them and there’s really nothing that can help with the investigation - the opposite, in fact; all the rambling on about his curse and how he forgot how to speak Russian after he moved to the U.S. and didn’t have to speak it for a century - kinda muddies the waters.”

“Hilarious read, though.” Maze put in. “So whiny about being immortal and how hard it is to hide from technology. Oh and the list of ways  _not_ to try to kill himself, again. In order of pain.” She laughed, remembering.

“He needed a  _list_?” Lucifer asked, with a surprised chuckle.

“Yeah, his memory wasn’t that good. It’s not like a human brain is designed to remember a lifetime of thousands of years.” York said. “The copious amount of filing was just so he could keep track..”

“All in English, yes?”

“Yes. He tended to immerse himself in the dominant language of whichever country he was living in. It made it easier for him not to slip up. He came here from Europe in the late 1800s, liked the way the population was spread out and stayed.”

“What are these?” Lucifer asked, gesturing at the other files.

“Potential new identities. Rather than  _faking_ an identity, he’s been stealing other people’s. He had his employees using face recognition software to find likely candidates - physical resemblance, lack of family ties, desired careers - then he would set the unfortunate look-alike up with a job promotion in a new area, only  _he_ takes the job and  _they_ get murdered. Pierce was just the latest in a long line.”

“What  _were_ you thinking, Dad?” Lucifer muttered, glancing up in the direction of Heaven.

“According to  _Cain_ ,  _he_ was doing what your father wanted. He was  _certain_ that his lifestyle was the  _only_ choice to a man in his circumstances. He felt that everything he did was totally justified, from killing his brother onwards.”

“Hence the lack of guilt.”

“That… ah.. wouldn’t keep him from Hell, would it?”

“No. My sister takes care of the sociopaths, personally.”

　


	3. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing of confessing one's sins to a priest, everything I know I learned from Google, sorry for any mistakes.

 

 

Cain

Cain had made it to the safe house a couple of hours before dawn. He’d had one in  _every_ city he’d lived in, lately - a place not mentioned in any files, not funded from a traceable bank account - for emergencies. Ella’s nerdy, nameless friend had somehow slipped away from him, soon after they‘d got out of the hospital building but he wasn‘t concerned; he was fairly sure that - even if she told anyone where she had seen him  _last_ \- no one would find him. Not here.

He looked in the bathroom mirror and was satisfied that his appearance had changed enough. He had grown quite a beard, while in the hospital - it always did grow fast - they hadn’t shaved him during his stay; something about infection risk. Now that  _he_ had shaved his head…

He smiled at that. He’d always thought that a bald man with a thick beard looked as though his head was on upside-down and now, he  _was_ that man.

The flecks of grey that he’d dyed into his beard, looked good; natural, convincing. He was never going to look  _old_ but… people saw what they  _expected_. Bald man with greying beard equals  _old_ man; faded, amateur tattoos on lower arms and fingers equals ex-con and, best of all, distract the casual observer from his face. Add to that, worn and dirty biker gear, strategically padded to make him look fat instead of built and ’normal’ people wouldn’t even want to look him in the eye.

He grinned at his reflection and, just as expected, his teeth looked wrong - too straight, too white - he rummaged in a drawer and came up with some custom made clip-on veneers. Thank you, Hollywood special effects.  _Now_ , his smile looked as though he had never even  _brushed_ his teeth in his life, much less had a professional take a look. Perfect.

Now, he had some choices to make…

***

Dan

“Forgive me father for I have sinned. My last confession was seventeen years ago.” Dan said, his voice thick with shame.

“Did you lose your faith, my son?” The priest’s gentle, disembodied voice came from the other side of the grill, in the darkness of the confessional.

“I’m a police officer.” As though that explained everything.

“Of course.” Maybe it did. “Continue.”

“It didn’t feel _wrong_ , at the start, turning a blind eye when I saw colleagues doing things that they maybe  _shouldn’t_ but no one likes a snitch and I  _needed_ my job. Then I find out I have to get  _married_ because my girlfriend is pregnant and even though we didn’t have a big wedding - just down at the courthouse, you know? - I still needed the extra money.” He sighed.

“So, theft?”

“Yeah, I mean, I guess. Technically.”

“What else?” The priest sounded encouraging.

“No one likes a snitch and my wife - also a police officer - gets it into her head that one of our colleagues is dirty - being paid off by someone. So, she starts to follow him, trying to gather evidence and I start following  _her_ , in case…”

“In case she finds it?”

“In case she gets into trouble. These people can be dangerous.”

“Of course.”

“So, this  _one_ night, I follow her to where our colleague is meeting with a drug trafficker, who’s been paying him. There’s three of them, in the room - the trafficker, his bodyguard and our colleague - money changes hands and then my wife makes a sound or something because they all go for their guns and I… I… shoot them all.”

“To protect your wife?”

“Yes. The trafficker and his bodyguard die instantly and Mal… our colleague ends up in a coma.”

“And your wife was vindicated.”

“No, Father. I sneaked out and left her there and didn’t report the incident.  _She_ called for backup and because of  _her_ a dirty cop lived instead of dying.”

“Would you rather he had died?”

“In hindsight, yes. Afterwards, all of our colleagues turned against my wife -  _we_ were separated soon after - none of them wanted to work with her. The feeling was that she might make up lies about  _any_ of us…”

“Or discover the truth?”

“Yes. It was only a matter of time before - working alone - she got into a situation that she couldn’t handle.  _That’s_ why we don’t snitch, we have to be able to  _trust_ each other. So, I tried to make sure she got the  _easy_ cases - the open and shut ones - but she  _still_ insists on over-thinking them and on  _one_ of them, she picks up a civilian, who  _helps_ her, saves her life when it goes bad… Someone  _else_ who doesn‘t care how dangerous it is, so long as the  _right_ person gets punished.”

“I see.” The priest said, in a way that made Dan squirm inside. “You say that you would rather your colleague had died..?”

“Yes. After he’d been a coma for weeks, his wife lets the doctors pull the plug and, instead of dying, he wakes up. Only… he’s not the same. He claims he’s been to Hell and he pushes me into getting him a gun out of evidence…”

“Because he had something to hold over you?”

“Yes. He remembered that I shot him and he implied that with me in  _jail_ , something bad might happen to my wife and child.”

“Did it not occur to you that  _he_ would have been in jail, as well?”

“He had plenty of friends…”

“Other corrupt police officers who would hurt your family, on his behalf?”

“Yes. Then, he started killing people.”

“With the gun that  _you_ stole for him?”

“Not to begin with, no. He killed some random cult members, with a knife and he used another firearm to fake the suicide of his previous police partner…” His voice drops to a whisper. “I think I might still be the only person who knows that  _last_ one, for certain.”

“This unfortunate’s family still believe him to be guilty of taking his own life?”

“I… maybe.”

The priest sighed.

“Then, he used the gun  _I_ got him, to murder a… er… street preacher and he tries to frame my wife’s civilian consultant for it and that was when I  _had_ to speak up. I told them about the gun and they took me into custody but Mal… our colleague, got away, abducted my daughter and my wife ended up shooting him.”

“You told them  _everything_?”

“No. Just about the gun; I didn‘t know how many others were on the take and I didn‘t want to wind up dead. I ended up demoted but at least I kept my job and my life.”

“So, you are confessing to theft, murder - in defence of another person - and, while not exactly ‘ _bearing false witness’_ you admit to holding back information and allowing your wife to be persecuted by her work colleagues, for the crime of being honest.”

“There’s more.”

“Go on.”

“I conspired with another person to have a man tortured and killed.”

“Who was  _this_ unfortunate?”

“A killer who escaped justice on a technicality.”

“Anything else?”

“I… committed adultery; _I_ was divorced by then but my… Char… my  _lover_ was not. Not at the start.” At the thought of Charlotte, he broke down and cried.

“And is that everything?”

“I think so, Father. What's my penance?”

“Are you _truly_ repentant?”

“Yes, Father, I  _swear_ to you, before God, that I am.”

“Very well, there  _is_ a matter that you can help the church with.”

“Anything.”

“Tell me everything that you know, about Lucifer Morningstar…”

***

　


	4. The Weight Of History

 

Cain

Usually, when he had generated too much attention, his strategy was to leave. Go far away from the problem and wait for all the people who knew him, to die of old age.

The FBI were involved, this time.  _They_ had resources, worldwide. Interpol, the internet, facial recognition software,  _Lucifer_.

In the end, it boiled down to two options. He had no job and no passport. He had enough money stashed to live off grid in the U.S. for years, if he took care of Lucifer, first.  _Or_ , he could probably get across the border and live a transient lifestyle all over South America,  _Hell_ , he could probable go north and  _walk_ over the pole, back to Europe - it’s not like the cold would kill him. The big question was, would Lucifer bother to look for him?

Hmm, to kill Lucifer or  _not_ to kill Lucifer?

***

Dan

“You’ve been busy.” Dan said, sitting at a small table in the sacristy, looking through the extensive files of ‘evidence’, that Father Kinley had shown him.

“Alas, I can’t take the credit for  _most_ of it. It’s the work of a journalist; his attorney mailed it to The Vatican, on his instruction, after his death. I don’t know if you remember him, Reese Getty?”

“Yeah, I remember. He was doing a piece about Lucifer and he ended up uncovering a serial killer - Alvin Kapitski -  _and_ , becoming his final victim.” Dan said, distractedly; he was finding the photographic ’proof’, mesmerising.

“You’re certain that that  _is_ what happened?” Kinley sounded sceptical.

“As sure as I  _can_ be. It wasn’t  _my_ case, it was Chloe’s but the evidence was overwhelming, Kapitski gave us a detailed confession and seemed more than willing to spend the rest of his life in a secure mental facility.”

“You don’t think that it’s possible that the unfortunate Mr. Getty got too close to unmasking Lucifer and was… silenced?”

“Unmasking..? No.” There was a nervous laugh in Dan’s voice as he contemplated the idea. “Here’s the thing, Lucifer tells  _everyone_ that he’s the real deal, there’s nothing to… I mean there would be no reason to…  _silence_ … this…  _these_ pictures are easy enough to  _fake. Anyone_ could photo-shop these.”

“I  _agree_ that  _photographs_ are easily faked, nowadays but what of  _these_?” Kinley flipped through the album until he came to the page he wanted.

Dan was rendered speechless.

The pages he was looking at contained various artistic representations of The Devil and, unless you  _were_ looking… you could be forgiven for  _not_ seeing it…

The proof was there for the world to see.

The dark, curly hair, the almost black, defiant eyes, the lean muscular body… paintings centuries old, depicting The Devil as a fallen angel…

“This could be… coincidence.” Dan sounded unsure, now; he had seen Lucifer’s curls, on those rare occasions when the, ever present, hair product had failed. All the pictures showed him beardless, though; Dan figured designer stubble wasn’t a thing when these were painted - wait, had it been a thing in Nazi Germany? He thought, maybe,  _not_. He should research that…

“Even these?” Father Kinley turned the page. He had baited his hook, snared his prey and now he could to start to reel in his new ally.

“Ohh.” Dan breathed.

The statues were beautiful and, for a man who had  _seen_ him this naked, hauntingly familiar. Dan vividly remembered the sting of injustice he had felt - looking at Lucifer Morningstar’s barely covered body - a man who drank constantly, ate huge amounts of junk food and, seemly, got all of his ‘exercise’ from sex. Now he was seeing, again, all that perfect, enviable musculature,  _lovingly_ recreated in marble.

“When..?” Dan could barely get the word out.

“Mid-eighteen hundreds. I imagine  _he_ found it amusing to model for them.”

“Amusing, yeah.” Dan snorted. Knowing Lucifer as well he did, he was sure that  _modelling_ was the least of it. Wait,  _what?_ He was actually buying into this?

“The first statue was considered too seductive; distracting in a church and so the second one was commissioned, showing him to be more… tormented.”

“Yeah?” Dan, personally thought that they were  _both_ too sexual for church.

“He seems to like manipulating events by tempting and coercing individuals - on a  _personal_ level, nothing  _big_ but with a subtle ripple effect - judging by the evidence collected here. What do you know about his activities,  _this_ time around?” Father Kinley asked, gently, not wanting to spook the detective.

All colour seemed to drain from Dan’s face.

“The Sinnerman.” He whispered, hoarsely.

***


	5. Bad Choices

 

Father Kinley

He knew he had made the right choice, as he watched Detective Espinoza scrub tears from his face, while he talked about his lost love. He placed a compassionate hand on Dan’s shoulder while sneering, inside, at the thought of  _anyone_ wasting their grief on someone whose soul was already burning in Hell. Doubtless, Lucifer had engineered her murder so that she wouldn’t achieve her redemption - assuming a defence lawyer ever  _could_.

This  _‘Sinnerman’_ stuff was interesting, though; there’d been nothing in the news to suggest that a global crime syndicate was being taken down  _or_ that Lt. Pierce had been anything other than a hardworking, honest police officer. Then again, to hear Espinoza talk, honest police officers were few and far between.

Daniel Espinoza was, undoubtedly, a gift from God; destined to redeem himself by helping to send The Devil back to where he belonged.

***

Lucifer

He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, as humans so imaginatively put it, everything was going too  _well_. The deconstruction of The Sinnerman Network was being beautifully handled by the FBI who, supervised by the lovely Agent York and Maze, had cleaned their own house first, then taken out Cain’s  _top_ people, before working their way down the food chain.

Cain’s meticulous filing had been invaluable and York had been right, the private journal  _would_ only complicate things. Lucifer smirked, as he locked it in his safe,  _Maze_ was right, too, it  _was_ hilarious. He had chuckled over Cain’s  **‘Deaths not to try again’** list; top of which was ‘ **the**   **volcano‘** , the words  **‘rough six months’** written across from it.  **‘Eaten by another life form’**  was followed by the advice  **‘futile but amusingly fatal for the diners’.** The last and most recent entry was  **‘stabbed with demon steel’** the note contained the advice  **‘not that painful but blade _would_  kill celestials’ **the words **‘good to know’** were underlined three times, in red. Lucifer shuddered, realizing that he had, carelessly, given Cain  _way_ too much information. He wondered how Cain had felt about his  _final_ death.

They’d managed to keep it out of the media - Cain  _not_ dying at a crime scene, helped with that - Lt. Pierce, dying in isolation from a compromised immune system, just wasn’t that much of a story. Lucifer was relieved that Chloe’s name hadn’t been dragged through the gutter; her engagement to the man had been mercifully brief.  _Their_ new, full disclosure, relationship was, so far, the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him. All  _he_ had to do was not screw it up.

Even work had been going smoothly, especially now he could use his abilities, openly, in front of The Detective. Why did he feel that they were going to have to  _pay_ for all this happiness?

***

Dan

He had been sitting at this table, with Father Kinley, for over two hours and each new thing that he learned was more disturbing than the last.

“As you’ve seen from the artwork, most of his  _’angel’_  portraits resemble the man that you know, whereas depictions of his  _‘devil’_ appearance, vary. The only thing that  _is_ agreed upon, is that he is monstrous. Now, listen to a first hand account, penned by the unfortunate Mr Getty:” He opened a folded piece of paper and began to read.

‘…I saw him through the two-way glass of the interrogation room and, for many seconds, I thought that my heart had stopped. His hair was gone, his skin was crimson; cracked, peeling, blackened, smouldering with the stench of sulphur and evoking a primal flight response that my body was incapable of acting on. It wasn’t just the way he  _looked_ , although that was bad enough but, I’ve seen burn victims  _before_ and they usually evoke a sense of pity or sympathy but not  _him._ He  _smiled_ and seemed to project malevolence and, although I had been doubtful of its existence previously, I could feel my soul shrivelling in his gaze. No words can adequately describe the deep rooted, instinctive terror of seeing him.

The  _actual_  Devil.

The suspect was whimpering on the floor, behind him, having given all the information that he had to give.  _He_ was probably traumatized for life, those eyes had actually looked into  _him,_ whereas those awful, red, flaming orbs had not been looking at  _me_ , at all. He hadn’t realized that I was there and for that I thank God.

I tried to tell my beloved wife, desperate to ensure her safety but she wouldn’t hear a word against him and it makes me shudder in horror at how he must have corrupted her; she who would never have been sexually intimate with a patient, before…’

Father Kinley put the paper down.

“He had a certain flare with words but I think that we can assume he was being as accurate as he could.  _His_ was the most coherent description we managed to obtain. The others… well some were driven irrevocably insane, while  _some_ claim not to remember the visuals, at all but only the  _feeling_. The feeling of their souls being  _scoured_ almost, as though all their sins were pulled out and exposed for everyone to see.” He said, looking at Dan, expectantly.

“It’s common knowledge, at the precinct, that Lucifer can help with the more  _difficult_  suspects.” Dan said, his mind racing. “Normally he just asks them ‘what is it that you truly desire?’ and they tell him, like they have no choice but, occasionally, he’s left suspects whimpering in terror. He doesn’t touch them, hurt them  _physically_ ; we all thought it was a kind of  _hypnosis_.”

“What Mr. Getty says about his wife…”

“Ex-wife. She’s Lucifer’s therapist.”

“It’s clear that he likes to corrupt the innocent; seduce them into doing, willingly, what they would normally find morally repugnant. I imagine, if he’d managed to pull it off, that manipulating  _your_ ex-wife into marrying an evil crime boss, would have been his masterpiece.”

“Manipulating..? No, he didn’t want her to marry Pierce…”

“And that you, believe  _that_ , speaks of how skilled he is. Chloe, it seems, had God looking out for her. From what I hear, she is, truly, a shining soul.”

“He knew who Pierce was, he  _admitted_ it, when  _I_ found out, after…” He couldn’t bear to think about Charlotte;  _had_ Lucifer manipulated her into investigating Pierce?

“Once it was common knowledge, there was no reason for him to keep it secret. I wonder what he has planned for Chloe, now.”

“It’s hard to say because they work together and have to be discrete but, I think they might be a couple, now.” Dan said, quietly, feeling deep shame on Chloe’s behalf.

“Then we must move quickly. Lucifer  _must_ be banished back to Hell.”

***


	6. Tragic Inevitability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one, as a teaser to what's coming next...

 

Cain

Everything was going wrong in his life and, for the first time in decades, he found himself close to succumbing to self pity. It had started in small ways; the big freezer, which should have been well stocked with food, was empty. He had tried to phone for take-out, only to find that the phone wasn’t working. Fine, he had cash, he’d go out… the safe, where there should have been large quantities of used bills, was as empty as the freezer.

Someone had double crossed him…

Dan

Hiding in the men’s room wasn’t usually his style but today… nerves were getting the better of him.

Father Kinley’s plan - for Dan to go to Lucifer’s penthouse and slip the sedative into his drink - would  _never_ have worked. Detective ‘Douche’ dropping round unexpectedly? Lucifer would be naturally suspicious and, having him collapse in his own home would be awkward, especially since Chloe needed to be there when it happened.  _She’d_ probably arrest him. No, the precinct was the place. In the end, Father Kinley had concurred.

Dan smirked, his plan was clever and flawless, Lucifer would  _never_ see it coming. Once he hit the floor, some well meaning soul would call for an ambulance and Father Kinley would follow  _it_ \- and Lucifer - to the hospital. Once there, what could be more natural than a priest saying Latin words over a sick man?

He looked at his watch, Lucifer and Chloe had been back here for twenty minutes or so,  _she_ was doing paperwork so  _he_ would be bored and when he was bored he liked to…

Someone screamed. Chloe? Dan had never heard her make a sound like that, like a wounded animal...

 _‘Jesus, Chlo, have a little dignity.’_ He thought.  _‘It’s only your damned boyfriend and it’s only a sedative…’_ Then ice ran down his spine as he heard the panicked, agonized voice of his ex-wife, shouting out a name.

Trixie.

***


	7. Collateral Damage

 

Dan

He could firmly lay the blame on Amenadiel’s broad shoulders, he decided. If Amenadiel hadn’t convinced him that Charlotte was in Heaven then Dan wouldn’t have felt the need to finally go to confession, after all these years. He wouldn’t have met Father Kinley.

 _‘Yes you would_.’ The treacherous voice of reason whispered in his ear.  _’He was just waiting for you… or someone_ like _you.’_

It had been, he was certain, the worst moment of his life; stepping out of the men’s room, seeing the crowd of co-workers gathered around… Walking towards the focus of attention, the crowd parting to reveal…

His only child, limp on the floor, her face and chest obscured by Ella, who was frantically performing CPR.

“They’re on their way.” Chloe said, tears pouring down her face, as she pocketed her cell phone.

“What happened?” Dan asked, hoping his guilt would be hidden under his  _very_ real concern.

“I don’t know, she was fine and then…” Chloe sounded so devastated, he felt as though someone was carving out his insides with a blunt knife.

Dan shivered and happened to glance at Lucifer.

Lucifer was behaving oddly. He was almost vibrating with rage and there was heat pouring off him; he was shaking his head, slightly but, he was staring, not at  _Trixie_ but at an empty space  _near_ her. It looked, to Dan, as though he was telling an invisible person, ‘ _no’_. Then, he  _moved_ , slightly, a weird sideways jerk, like stop motion animation or like watching someone under strobe lighting or a bad special effect…

“She was eating  _this_.” One of the unis held up a half eaten cup of pudding, now wrapped in an evidence bag and Dan forgot the weirdness - his daughter was  _dying_ for fuck-sake. “I was careful, picking it up, I didn’t get  _my_ prints on it but…” The nameless rookie faltered.

Everyone understood; Trixie’s prints would, most likely, have spoiled the chances of getting the  _killer’s_ prints. Was it wrong that Dan felt a tiny shred of relief?

“Get a.. ..separate…. sample of.. the pudding….  _itself_.” Ella gasped out, her breathing was erratic but she wasn’t faltering from what she was doing. “If there…  _is_ something…. wrong with… it, the… hospital need…… to know.”

Oh, he was going to Hell, for this; probably quite soon, if Chloe ever found out the truth. He hoped he could get his hands on that bastard Kinley, first.

Dan had used a syringe to push a tiny hole into the side of the, unopened, pudding cup. Then, he had depressed the plunger and, of his own free will, laced the chocolate goo with the poison that Father Kinley had given him, before placing it in the precinct fridge, clearly labelled ‘ _Dan‘_.

A  _sedative_ , Kinley had said, that lying son of a bitch; something to make Lucifer easy to handle, for the banishing. It didn’t even have to be that  _strong_ because, for some reason, Lucifer was as vulnerable as any normal human, when Chloe was close to him. Dan supposed that  _that_ was bullshit, too. Of  _course_ Lucifer was human, Kinley was clearly deranged and Dan…

Had been duped into murdering his own daughter.

No, he’d been  _manipulated_ into being a willing accomplice in  _Lucifer’s_ murder by an insane religious fanatic. How would he have felt if it  _had_ been Lucifer who had eaten the pudding? Not as bad as he did right now but still…

***


	8. The Other Shoe

 

Lucifer

_“Trixie.”_ Chloe practically  _howled_ with anguish at the sight of her, on the floor, with Ella doing chest compressions.

“I’ve got this,” Ella panted, “Phone an ambulance.”

“Spawn?” Lucifer choked out the word, his throat tight with emotion. Then the rage started to build in him.

A crowd of co-workers gathered.

“They’re on their way.” Chloe said, tears pouring down her face, as she pocketed her cell phone.

“What happened?” Dan’s voice came from the side somewhere but all of  _Lucifer’s_ focus was on the figure of Azrael, standing beside Ella and Beatrice, looking down at them with sorrow.

“I don’t know, she was fine and then…” Chloe sounded so devastated… how could he make this  _right_?

He wasn’t aware that he was shaking his head at his sister, until she raised her hand slightly and, for all of the humans, time stopped.

Lucifer strode over to her.

“Lu, I’m not here to take her, I promise you.”

“Then  _why_?” He growled.

“I’m here because Ella’s soul was  _screaming_ and I thought…”

“The Spawn  _won’t_..?”

“She’s not scheduled to, no. Not here and not  _now_ \- not even  _this_ century.”

“I can help her.” He started to unfold his wings, careful not to hit any of the humans.

“No…”

“What, dear old  _Dad_ would disapprove?” He sneered.

“Would that  _matter_?”

“Of course not.” He plucked a feather, before putting his wings back where they belonged.

“I meant that you can’t do it while time is frozen, she’s  _human_ , her body won’t change until time _flows_ again. She can’t get better, she can’t get worse. Save it until she’s in the  _hospital_ , with no one else around.”

He put the feather, carefully, into an inside pocket of his suit and moved back to where he’d been standing, before. Azrael vanished and time started back up.

“She was eating  _this_.” One of the unis held up a half eaten cup of pudding, now wrapped in an evidence bag. “I was careful, picking it up, I didn’t get  _my_ prints on it but…” The nameless rookie faltered.

Lucifer’s fury started to build, again. Either  _he_ or  _Dan_ had been targeted, most likely  _him_ because  _everyone_ in the precinct  _knew_ about his fondness for Dan’s pudding.

“Get a.. ..separate…. sample of.. the pudding….  _itself_.” Ella gasped out. “If there…  _is_ something…. wrong with… it, the… hospital need…… to know.”

***

Dan

There was only room for  _one_ other person to ride with Trixie in the ambulance and, obviously, Chloe went. Dan glanced around the parking lot, hoping to see Kinley but that bastard probably lit out, as soon as he realized it wasn’t  _Lucifer_ being stretchered out of the building.

Dan walked, dejectedly towards his car. He passed Lucifer’s Corvette and wondered where Lucifer  _was_ , why wasn’t he following the ambulance? Didn’t he  _care_?

He barely remembered his own drive to the hospital and, once there, he wasn’t sure how he could face Chloe, he only knew that he couldn’t let her go through this alone.

Of course Chloe  _wasn’t_ alone. How the  _Hell_ had Lucifer gotten here so  _fast_? They were sitting in the waiting area, outside intensive care, Chloe sobbing quietly into Lucifer’s shoulder.

“Daniel.” Lucifer said, quietly. He looked as though he had  _aged_ , since Dan had seen him last - his  _eyes_ … “There’s no news, yet.”

Dan nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Somehow, no news was better; he could still pretend that everything would be okay.

He realized that Lucifer had his phone in his left hand and was rapidly texting, not looking at the screen at all.

“Who are you… er..?” Dan asked, gesturing at the phone. “You shouldn’t really be using it in here.” Was Lucifer left handed? Dan couldn’t remember.

“Maze. She’ll want to help with the take down. Denis too, I imagine.” He switched his phone off.

“Yeah. I guess.” Dan felt sick.

“Rest assured, Daniel, we  _will_ get whoever did this.” His voice was stone cold.

“And then what?” The look in Lucifer’s eyes was terrifying him.

“The justice system can have them. They’ll come to me eventually. I can  _wait_.” The last word came out as growl.

Dan shuddered. This wasn’t like Palmetto, when he’d successfully hidden what he’d done, fooled his own  _wife_ … For an instant, he truly believed that Lucifer  _was_ who he said he was and that  _he_ , Daniel Espinoza, would be spending eternity in his realm.

A doctor came out of Trixie’s room, a look on his face that was, somehow, both grim  _and_ sympathetic.

***


	9. Tears of the Devil

 

Dan

He couldn’t bear to be in the hospital for another second. Nothing made sense to him anymore. He wanted to scream - hard, until he had no more breath - he wanted to hit… someone… until they broke and bled and gasped for mercy, which he would  _not_ grant.

He  _hated_ … so much that it made his insides boil. Pierce, for dying of natural causes, before he could rot in jail for the rest of his life. Lucifer, for not telling, until it was too late, about Pierce being The Sinnerman. Charlotte, for  _dying,_ as well as for not telling  _him_ that  _she_ knew; that she was  _investigating_ Pierce. Chloe because she hadn’tlooked up from her crying, to acknowledge him, when he had got to the hospital, just clung to that bastard Morningstar. He hated  _himself_ for the crippling guilt he felt, when she finally  _had_ looked at him, her despair mirroring his own. He knew that he could never stand to have her eyes on him again. He hated  _himself_ most of all.

The doctor had allowed them into the room…

Trixie had been all wires and tubes and bleeping machines and Dan had left without even stepping inside. Snatches of the doctor’s words were ringing in his head as he drove away.

“..Poison, an unknown compound...” “..Irreversible brain damage…” “..Could maybe live for decades on life support but you might want to…”

Lucifer had already started to pay for…  _everything_ \- flash bastard - a private room with an extra bed, so that Chloe could get some rest without going home, all the medical treatment that Trixie had had so far  _and_ the bills for the lab work on the poison.

Dan had only  _one_ thought on  _his_ mind, now: find Kinley and make  _him_ pay.

***

Lucifer

The room was quiet except for the bleeping and Chloe’s soft snores punctuated by the occasional whimper. ‘ _Be at peace’_ he had murmured, when he lay her gently on the bed and, for once - probably too exhausted to do anything else - she had responded to his power.

Lucifer closed the drapes around Trixie’s bed, took the feather from his pocket and carefully put it on her forehead. He held his breath, terrified that it wouldn’t work. He hadn’t told Chloe, he wouldn’t offer her hope, in case it was cruelly dashed. He had never seen her so broken but experience had taught him that a person could always be broken  _more_.

It started small, a tiny glimmer, like a flame licking along the edges, before it suddenly brightened. The light would have blinded a human but Lucifer watched, hopefully, as the feather seemed to burn into her skin, filling the room with the same forces that had lit the first star.

When the light had burned out, the machines continued as though nothing had changed.

“Come on, Spawn,” He said, quietly, not wanting to wake Chloe. He sat down and took Trixie’s hand - so limp, so small… so precious to him; for  _herself_ , not just because of his feelings for her mother.

“It’s not time for you to leave, yet. We’d all miss you,  _so_ much; even people you don’t  _know_ , would miss you. My dry-cleaner would miss the bonus he gets, for removing glitter from my suits. That bakery where I buy your chocolate cakes…“ His voice cracked.

“You don’t want to just exist in this room, do you?” He continued, warming to the theme. “Being fed from a tube? I doubt you get chocolate cake through one of  _those_. Think of everything you’ll  _miss_. There’s so much of the world that I want to show you and your mum. So many beautiful, wonderful things. I want to take you flying, out in the desert at night, when the stars are  _so_ clear, they look like you can touch them, from here, on  _Earth_. One day, I want to be next to your mother, watching you graduate; I want to be there when you start dating and I want to make sure that none of your chosen dates hurt you in  _any_ way.” Tears were pouring down his face, now but he didn’t notice. “I want to see you crowned President of Mars…”

Trixie made a choking sound in the back of her throat. Her eyes were open and blinking rapidly.

“Spawn?” He reached out and gently pulled the tube out of her mouth, she gagged slightly and then swallowed. He pulled back the drapes so he could see Chloe - still asleep - should he wake her, yet?

“Not…” Trixie struggled to speak. “Not a crown.”

“No?  _What_ then?” He could almost pretend that they were having a normal conversation.

“A sceptre. With a secret, hidden blade.” Her voice sounded stronger. She struggled to sit up and he put his arms around her, careful not to disturb the plastic tube running into her left arm. Once she was upright, he couldn’t seem to let go…

“That  _does_ sound more  _useful_ than a crown.” He said, as she tightened her arms around him and put her head on his shoulder. “If  _you_ design it,  _I’ll_ have it made and donate it to the Martian government.”

“Flying through space was  _awesome_ but it’s good to be back.”

“Mmm?”  _Had she been dreaming?_ He wondered, then he caught the scent of The Silver City on her and  _knew_.

“The gates wouldn’t open for me but I saw Charlotte, through them… and Grandpa… and there was someone else… but I don’t remember what  _he_ looked like. Don’t cry, Lucifer, you’re making my neck all wet.  _He_ said I have a guardian angel - the most powerful angel in creation.” She said the last part as though she was quoting.

“Really?” Lucifer said, his voice a rough croak. He wondered if that would be Michael; not his  _usual_ thing, though, guarding human spawn…

“The brightest and most beautiful…” Trixie said, proudly but a commotion outside had taken Lucifer‘s attention.

“If you don’t leave, now, we’ll have to get security.” The scared female voice was coming from the corridor.

“Yeah? Bring it, bitch; you’re  _not_ keeping me out.” Maze sounded more furious than Lucifer had ever heard her. He hastily scrubbed the tears from his face and disentangled himself from Trixie.

“FBI, Ma’am, I assure you that this woman is no threat to the patient.” Agent York sounded calm and long suffering.

The door opened and, at the sound, Chloe sat bolt upright and reached for her gun. Of course, it wasn’t there. She looked around the darkened room until her eyes focused on Trixie - sitting up in bed as though nothing bad had happened to her.

“Monkey?” She was across the room and holding her baby while Lucifer was quietening down Maze.

“Mommy, I saw Grandpa, he said he was proud of us and…”

Lucifer pushed Maze back out into the corridor and closed the door behind them both.

“She’s going to be fine, now let her spend some time with her mother.” He said, quietly.

***


	10. Lost and Found

 

Cain

He closed the locker with a bang. Empty. How had  _that_ happened? No one knew about his failsafe,  _no one_.

The five keys had been well hidden in his safe house, all in different places. Each locker  _should_ have contained a gym bag, perfectly normal looking, full of old but clean gym gear. Nothing worth stealing but nothing so gross that it needed throwing out. Normal. If you didn’t realize that the hard base of the bag was hiding bank notes and the handles contained flawless half-carat diamonds, you wouldn’t look at the bag twice.

Gone. Four empty lockers.

He opened number five.

No gym bag but  _not_ empty.

A curved knife, forged in Hell, still sealed in an evidence bag. He picked it up.

Perfect.

***

Maze

She badly wanted to be somewhere else but she could see that  _this_ needed doing,  _first_. Agent York had flashed his badge and taken over the investigation and now the two of them were going through the precinct CCTV, mostly concentrating on faces,  _reactions_ ; Trixie hadn‘t been the  _intended_ target, would someone look… disappointed?

“What was  _that_?” York, exclaimed. “Has it been tampered with?”

“Where?” Maze pulled her chair over to his screen.

He ran the footage back, then forwards, a frame at a time. Everyone was watching Ella and Trixie, no one moving very much, except for Ella, then Lucifer seemed to abruptly change position, between one frame and the next.

“It looks like a piece has been deleted.”

“Nah, Lucifer’s the only thing affected, Azrael was probably here. She can stop time, y’know, makes it easier for her to collect souls during major disasters, when hundreds go at once from the same place… What?” York was looking at her strangely.

“Azrael? The Angel of Death. Is  _female?”_

“Lucifer’s sister. I guess he sent her packing.”

“So time stopped, for everyone except Lucifer and his sister and when time started up again, Lucifer had moved, so the footage looks wrong.” York said, slowly, as though he was getting it straight in his head.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Back to work, then.” He sounded cool with it, so Maze went back to what she was doing.

When they’d finished looking, forwards and then, all the way back to when Dan had put the pudding in the fridge, there was only one conclusion that they could draw…

***

Maze

She’d dealt with filthy humans before but she did have  _standards_. She banged hard on the red security door, which served as both fire exit  _and_ back way out for the seedy bar. It opened almost immediately.

“Whaderyawant?” The man held a dirty mop in one hand and a gun in the other. “Oh, it’s  _you_.” He clicked the safety on and stuffed the gun down the back of his jeans. “I’m the only one here, you’ll have to come back later, if…”

“You gotta hose I can use?”

The man smirked and glanced down to the  _front_ of his jeans.

“Anytime yo…”

“The  _other_ kind.” Maze ground out between clenched teeth, she was in no mood for this.

“Jet washer do?”

“Oh,  _yeah_.” She smiled, she was going to enjoy this.

***

Lucifer

It really was a fabulous view, Lucifer thought, as he looked out at it. Such a pity what had happened here with Cain’s minion, trying to manipulate  _him_ into breaking his Dad‘s strictest rule; the memories of  _that_ day rather spoiled the ambience. Chloe had been so angry at him, for what she  _thought_ he’d done…

Would she be angry with him, for what he was doing  _now_?

“Nice place you got here.” York said, admiring the view and the infinity pool. “Where’s Maze?”

“She’ll be here shortly. With the.. er… package.”

“We can’t ignore this, we both know it.” He sounded resigned.

“You are one of the most remarkable humans I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

“In a good way?”

“Yes, in a good way.”

York flinched at the sorrow in Lucifer’s voice.

“I got him.” Maze shouted as she came up the stairs, hauling the limp body.

“I told you  _not_ to hurt him.” Lucifer protested, as Maze dumped a bruised and groaning Dan, at his feet. “Why is he wet?”

“He was sleeping in a pool of piss, behind a dumpster  _and_ he’d puked down his front, so I hosed him off before I put him in the trunk. For the record, that‘s  _all_ I did.”

“You put him in the  _trunk_?” York wasn’t  _really_ surprised but felt he should say  _something_.

“Well,  _duh_ , I didn’t want my seats getting all wet.”

“He smells like he’s been swimming in the cheap stuff, where did you find him?”

“Alley behind Barb‘s.” She turned on her heel. “I’m outta here, got things to do.” She headed off down the stairs.

“Going for death by gang members, Daniel? Or were you hoping that the swill they serve in there, would do the job? Dad doesn’t allow loopholes, you know. Suicides go to  _Hell_ , no matter  _what_ the method and  _you‘re_ heading there in any case.”

“I‘m there already. I deserve it.” He was battered and hung-over and didn’t care anymore.

“I concur but it’s not up to me and I’d still rather  _not_ see it happen.”

“Why’d you do it, Dan?” York asked him, helping him up off the floor.

“How did you know?” Dan asked, stumbling as Lucifer and York got him into a chair.

“Your body language, on the security footage. Luckily for  _you_ , what happened is being put down to an extreme allergic reaction,  _not_ a murder attempt. You’re in the clear. If you  _want_ to be.” York sounded tired.

“How  _can_ I? How can I be expected to  _live,_ with Trixie…  _gone.._ knowing that  _I_ did it to her?”

“Did Maze not tell you?” Lucifer sounded surprised for an instant but then… “No, of  _course_ she didn’t. Beatrice was discharged from hospital, this morning. She’s perfectly alright. Which you would  _know_ , if you bothered to answer your phone.”

“It fell in a toilet. She’s  _really_ okay? The doctor said…”

“Doctors  _have_ been known to get it wrong.” Lucifer said, carefully.

“I should  _sue_ them, telling us that our  _baby_ was…”

“That would be a very  _dishonourable_ thing to do, under the circumstances, don’t you think?” Lucifer fixed him with those eyes of his and Dan squirmed. “Besides, I’ve already  _made_ a deal with hospital administration, to keep all of  _this_ out of the media. The word  _miracle_  was being bandied around, neither Beatrice nor The Detective need that kind of exposure.”

“Have you  _told_ Chloe?”

“No. Neither of them has asked the right question, yet.” He turned his attention to York. “Can  _you_ get him showered? I’ll sort him out some clean clothes.”

***

Once they got to the bathroom - Dan almost dead weight - York stripped him and checked over his bruised skin. Nothing broken, he didn’t think.

“So, are  _you_ sleeping with him, now?” Dan sneered.

“You know me better than that. What  _happened_ to you?”

“Fell down.” Dan surveyed the damage in the floor to ceiling mirror, his face and body covered in purple splodges and dried blood. His knuckles were skinned, too and he remembered how satisfying it had felt to  _hit_.

“More than once, by the look of it but that’s  _not_ what I meant.” York said. “Can you stand up, in there?” He gestured to the shower. “Or do you need me to help?”

“I can manage.” He stumbled in and ended up sitting, while the warm water thundered down on him.

York gathered Dan’s clothes and decided that they were only fit for the trash.

“How are you boys getting on, in there?” Lucifer’s voice came through the closed door.

“I’ll have him out, shortly.”

“Lovely. I’ll leave his clothes out here and go and put some coffee on.”

***


	11. Interrogation or Intervention?

 

Maze

She never wanted to let go, never wanted this feeling to end. She held the warm little body in her arms, inhaling the scent of this small human creature that had, somehow, become the most precious thing in the universe.

On the TV screen some lame Disney princess was singing but both Chloe and Trixie had fallen asleep, leaving Maze on guard duty and wondering how these humans had come to mean so  _much_ to her.

She smirked at the memory of turning the jet washer on the douche - how he had spluttered and squirmed and yelped. Lucifer had forbidden her to harm the man and, deep down, Maze knew that he was right; hurting the father _would_ hurt Trixie. It had been  _tempting_ , though, he would have been so easy to kill…

***

Lucifer

“It’s all true.” Dan said, looking accusingly at Lucifer, across the kitchen counter. “It’s all  _fucking_ true.”

“What tipped you off,  _Detective_ Douche?” Lucifer asked, handing Dan a cup of coffee and some aspirin.

“These are  _my_ clothes.”

York raised an eyebrow, he wasn‘t sure that he got it.

“Of course they are. I fetched them from  _your_ apartment.” Lucifer said, smugly.

“Well, you haven’t had time to  _drive_ there and back, what’d’ya do,  _fly?”_

“Yes, actually. Now, tell me, Daniel, what  _exactly_ were you trying to accomplish?”

“He  _lied_ , he said it was a sedative.” Dan looked up at Lucifer, with a look in his eyes that was common in Hell; the eyes of a tortured soul begging for oblivion.

“And who might  _‘he’_ be and  _why_ would ‘ _he_ ’ want me sedated?” Lucifer asked, carefully holding back his anger.

“Father Kinley. He wanted to exorcize you back to Hell.” Dan said, quietly.

“I’d laugh if it wasn’t  _almost_ so bloody tragic. A Catholic priest. I’m assuming Catholic?”

“Yeah. Why would he  _lie_ to me, like that?”

“Don’t you watch the news, Danny boy?” York said, pityingly.

“Newsflash, then; Hell is  _full_ of them, so-called men of God, they‘ve been turning up for centuries. All  _convinced_ that they’re in the right, not a  _shred_ of guilt between them; believing, wholeheartedly, that the end justifies the means. Can’t even  _torture_ them - they  _like_ it, they think they’re being martyred. Where is this deluded fanatic, now?”

“I couldn’t find him.” Dan buried his face in his hands.

“Scarpered when he realized you poisoned the wrong person, did he?”

“Yeah. Is Trixie  _really_ okay?”

“I  _never_  lie and I  _certainly_  wouldn’t lie about  _that_ , what do you think I am,  _evil_?”

“Well, the  _Bible_ …”

“History’s written by the winners.” York said, quietly. “Not that I’m saying the Bible’s  _factual_.”

“ _You_ don’t seem surprised by  _any_ of this, how long have  _you_ known?” Dan asked his friend, accusation in his voice.

“Since  _you_ told me about Pierce, the shit hit the fan and  _I_ got the job of interviewing  _him_.” He inclined his head towards Lucifer.

“He told you and you  _believed_ him.”

“Dan,  _look_ at him. How is it that anyone  _ever_ thinks he’s  _human_?”

“I’ve made no secret of who I am…”

“What,  _exactly_ do you see, Den? All  _I_ ever saw was an annoying  _dick_.”

“Until this  _Father Kinley_ put you straight; what did  _he_ show you?” Lucifer asked.

“Proof that you’ve been to Earth,  _before_. The death and destruction that you leave behind.”

“Yes, I’ve been here before but I have  _never_ taken a human life…”

“The Chicago  _fire_ …”

“Oh, so it’s  _my_ fault there was a drought and their buildings were  _wooden..?”_

“Nazi Germany…”

“Yes,  _obviously_ I’m  _all_ in favour of racism and religious persecution…” Lucifer said, sarcastically.

“He said you manipulate people into… doing…  _things_ that they wouldn’t… usually…  _corrupting_ them. Causing…”

“If there is  _one_ thing that I  _stand_ for, the whole  _bloody_ reason I was cast out and  ** _fell_** , it’s free will.” He was showing his anger, now, heat pouring off him and red, flickering in his eyes. “If a desire isn’t  _in_ a person,  _I_ can’t bring it out.”

“So, that ‘ _skillet’_ thing,  _flipping_ men; they were all secretly gay, were they?” Dan’s voice was raised too, now, as though he’d forgotten  _who_ he was arguing with.

“Of  _course_ not, more like secretly bi, I suppose. Most people are flexible to  _some_ degree… being entirely straight or entirely gay is actually unusual.” Lucifer’s anger climbed down a notch.

“So being gay  _doesn’t_ send you to Hell?”

“Of course not, consent is what’s  _important_. Rapists go to Hell.”

“So you’re not… pushing good people to be  _bad_ … gathering souls?”

“No, of course not, humans are  _plenty_ bad enough on their own.”

“So  _you’re_ not responsible for  _any_ of it?“

“Nope; my influence is completely unnecessary, you humans manage just fine. I don’t suppose you were shown evidence of the times I came here and  _nothing_ bad happened?”

Dan thought about all the works of art Kinley had shown him, had there been ‘death and destruction’ following their creation? He didn’t think so but still… humans having to take responsibility for…  _everything_.

“Not specifically… but…”

“ _You’ve_ done bad things, Daniel - yesterday’s near disaster, aside - did it  _ever_ feel as though  _you_ were being influenced by an evil being?” Lucifer’s voice was silky smooth, now and Dan flushed at the thought of some of the things he’d done.

“Growing up, I was taught that right and wrong, good and evil, came down to God and The Devil fighting for my soul and that if I did  _bad_ things it was because I wasn’t strong enough to resist The Devil, I didn’t  _fight_ enough, my  _faith_ was weak…” There were tears in his eyes as he remembered various attempts to ‘strengthen his faith‘.

“Complete bollocks. The _Detective_ isan atheist, isn‘t she?”

“Yes.” Dan wondered where this was going.

“So, you’re saying that  _without_ a religious belief of some kind,  _she_ can’t know the difference between right and wrong?” He didn’t give Dan a chance to answer before he said: “Remember Perry Smith?”

“You  _know_ about..?”

“Oooh, is there something to  _know_ , Daniel? I look forward to hearing about it but, for  _now_ … Maze had caught him and he was restrained in their apartment and The Detective had the opportunity to do whatever she liked with him. The man who murdered her  _father_ , in cold blood. No one  _else_ knew where he was and Maze and I would  _never_ have judged her, had she wanted to… well, whatever she  _wanted_ to do.”

“You would have let her…  _torture_ him?  _Kill_ him?” Dan asked, wide eyed.

“I could have offered her some excellent advice on  _technique_ , had she wanted. Maze and I would have disposed of his carcass, afterwards… It was her  _choice_. Of course,” He said, sarcastically, “Without the benefit of a  _religion_ to guide her, what  _would_ she choose to do?” He smirked across at York, who, obviously, had no idea and was hanging on every word.

“She called it in and he was arrested and she never laid a hand on him.” Dan said, quietly.

Lucifer nodded.

“She had a  _choice_ , everyone does; the Bible says:  _‘Show no pity: life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot.’_ but, had she  _gone_ with that and killed him, the guilt would have eaten her up.” He sighs, an eternity of sadness in the sound. “The Bible was written and  _re_ written - many times - by humans, Daniel. As a method of  _control_ , it’s brilliant, you can find a quote to justify almost  _any_ evil act and use it to influence the people that blindly follow. My young half-brother  _did_ try to fix things and we all know what became of  _him_.”

“Your  _brother_ … your… Amenadiel… oh God….  _Amenadiel_ …” Dan started to hyperventilate and then he snatched across the kitchen counter for the knife block…

***

Linda

“How long has this been going on, Lucifer?” Linda asked, coming out of the guest bedroom, where Dan had gone ominously quiet.

“Since Charlotte, I think.” Lucifer said. “Will he be alright?”

“I’ve had to medicate him. He’s had no grief counselling at  _all?_ ”

“ _That_ I don’t know but I  _do_ know he’s had no time off work.” Lucifer said.

“He hasn’t seen… anything?” Linda gestured at Lucifer, implying wings.

“No, they‘d have given him  _quite_ a different idea. A priest has been manipulating him, showed him newspaper cuttings and such.”

“He told me, when he’d calmed down. I’m sorry to say that  _Reese_ was in contact with this priest. It seems that it was assumed that  _you_ were just an eccentric human, until Reese’s research was forwarded to The Vatican, after his death. I’d guess that this,  _Kinley_ , came to L.A. and hung around, watching the people that knew  _you_ , personally, until he found an opportunity to recruit one.”

“That’s what they do, they get you when you’re vulnerable.” York said, the disgust evident in his voice.

“Indeed. Why did the thought of  _Amenadiel_ set him off, I hadn’t even  _mentioned_ him?” Lucifer asked.

“Amenadiel told him that Charlotte was in Heaven, it’s what induced him to go to confession and gave Kinley his opportunity. Now that he knows that you’re… who you’ve always said you are, he knows he’ll never see Charlotte again.”

“Redemption  _is_ a thing. If he were to turn his life around and never do another dishonest…”

“He’s in no fit state, at the moment, I’m afraid…”

“5150?” York asked, sadly.

“I really don’t see I have a choice. You got the knife off him, this time but he’s proved that he’s a danger to himself  _and_ others…”

“It’ll ruin his career…”

“You’re talking about committal, yes?” Lucifer put in. Linda nodded. “There  _are_ discreet places, send me the bill, no one need ever know.”

“What about work?” York asked.

“They’ve been trying to get him to use the leave he’s got banked; what’s happened with Beatrice could be seen to be a good reason…”

“I’ll call them.” York said.

“That’s settled, then. He’s more lucid, now, he asked me to give you this.” Linda handed Lucifer a card. It was crumpled and a bit soggy but still readable.

“Vatican Investigator.” He read. “ _That’s_ what they’re calling themselves now?”

“If he flew in from Italy, there’ll be records, Maze and I  _will_ find him. I imagine he’ll still be in L.A., probably planning a  _second_ attempt on you.” York said. “It might be a good idea for you to take Chloe and Trixie on a little vacay - perfectly natural, in light of what’s happened - let  _me_ know where and I’ll set up a decoy destination.”

“ _I‘ll_ be wanting a word, when you find him.” Lucifer said, his eyes flickering red…

***

 

 


	12. Epilogue

 

Cain

The makeshift weapon in his hand, looked  _stupid_ but he could still,  _vividly_ , remember his  _last_ fight with Lucifer. The nimble way the bastard had danced around him, the certainty that  _he_ was, in no way, a match for the fallen angel.

Fallen, yes but not in the same way that  _Amenadiel_ was fallen. Amenadiel had been all but human, when  _they_ had fought; Cain immortal, back then, had still ’died’ at  _his_ hands - a lot. Morningstar still had his  _powers_ and Cain still had the memory of the almost unendurable agony of having his forearm crushed.

The weapon still looked stupid.

He knew his way around the Lux building, had thoroughly explored  _long_ before Lucifer had figured out who Marcus Pierce  _truly_ was; the ex-Lord of Hell should really have invested in some locks. Arrogant ass.

Cain had raided a small closet, where the cleaning equipment was kept, liberated a mop handle and carefully taped the demon blade to the end of it. Now, he thought with satisfaction, he could stab Lucifer from a distance. Preferably in the back.

It’s not that he was a coward, he thought, as he crept, stealthily, up the, seemingly endless, stairs to the penthouse, it’s just that he wanted the best possible odds of success.

Lucifer had  _money_ ; piles of it - cash, gold, jewels - all ‘locked’ in a large safe with a  _ridiculously_ easy combination. It’s like the idiot  _wanted_ to be robbed.

Cain had nothing, now.

Once he had fallen (oh, the irony) there had, obviously, been a panic amongst his subordinates; a feeding frenzy that included thoroughly ripping  _him_ off, as they scrabbled for resources while the empire collapsed.

It was the only explanation.

He had been cleaned out. No contacts, no hidden wealth to draw on; not even a safe house, soon. His misery had been complete when he received the eviction notice. Non payment of rent. The ‘secret’ bank account had been emptied and closed…

He had stopped and removed his shoes, two landings ago and was now silent, in his socks, as he peered into the penthouse. It was almost dawn and nothing was moving.

Lucifer was face down, sprawled across his bed, wings spread out, fast asleep. Without making a sound, Cain went to the side of the bed closest to Lucifer’s unprotected torso, then, careful not to brush against the long wing feathers, he leaned in and, positioning the point of the blade between the wings, slightly to the left of Lucifer’s spine, stabbed him with the improvised spear.

The Hell-forged blade sank deep into his back, with no resistance of any kind. Cain had angled it so it would go into Lucifer’s heart and Lucifer, waking with a yell, drove it the rest of the way with his struggles. He twisted his head around to look at Cain, in disbelief.

“Thanks for telling me what I should use to kill you.” Cain said, as he watched the light go out of Lucifer’s eyes.

One of the limp wings began to move as, to Cain’s horror, Chloe Decker struggled out from under it.

She recognized him - despite his disguise - the instant that her eyes met his; she had, after all, looked into those same eyes whilst in the throes of passion…

“Marcus,  _why_?” She asked, horror and sorrow in her voice, tears in her eyes. “You’d got away, you were  _free_ …”

Cain looked at her, suddenly feeling like dirt. Why  _had_ he? She was right, he’d been free and now she was  _crying_ and he couldn’t bear it…

He felt his arm tingle and knew that the mark was gone again; knew, deep in his rotten soul, that he still loved Chloe and seeing her this way because of something  _he’d_  done…

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d  _be_ here. I never wanted to…”

The bullet from Chloe’s gun hit him right between the eyes.

Darkness.

***

Cain had made it to the safe house a couple of hours before dawn. He’d had one in  _every_ city he’d lived in - a place not mentioned in any files, not funded from a traceable bank account - for emergencies. Ella’s nerdy, nameless friend had somehow slipped away from him, soon after they‘d got out of the hospital but he wasn‘t concerned; he was fairly sure that - even if she told anyone where she had seen him  _last_ \- no one would find him. Not here…

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it, for now. Don't hate me too much, there's more of this series to come, as soon as it's written!! Many thanks to everyone who's left kudos and/or commented; know that you are loved. :)


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